


Broken Homes

by stardustandswimmingpools



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst, Based on a Tumblr Post, Childhood Trauma, Crying, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Father Figures, Gen, Hopeful Ending, I love to write pain, Love, M/M, bar mitzvah talk, btw b'nei mitzvahs ARE stressful, does this count as father/son relationship?, i just feel like jason would be much better at, learning the hebrew, not-so-subtle reference to What Would I Do, parents that argue, than i was, thank you falsettosheadcanons, that song is my kryptonite whta the fuck, they're trying but not very hard, uhh, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11215650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandswimmingpools/pseuds/stardustandswimmingpools
Summary: Whizzer comes from a home that was more broken than the one Marvin and Trina have made. So when Jason starts to cry, well...he kind of understands.-Based onthis asksent to @falsettosheadcanons on Tumblr





	Broken Homes

**Author's Note:**

> is the title of this fic from the prompt or is it from 5 Seconds of Summer's song "Broken Home"? no one knows. also bar (bat, for me) mitzvahs are stressful just not for jason okay just roll with it  
> whizzer had a crappy childhood and i love him :( okay that's all, please enjoy

 

Whizzer is sick of the fighting, but mostly he's just tired of all the waiting. Every single week, the same thing. Trina comes to get Jason, they fight over the bar mitzvah, and Whizzer sits in his bedroom on the bed he shares with Marvin, who, he has to force himself to remember often, is the love of his life, and blocks out the yelling.

The door creaks.

Whizzer, laying on the bed staring at the ceiling, says, “Whozat,” and in response, he gets a sniffle and, “Jason,” in the smallest voice ever.

Immediately, he's sitting up, his feet on the floor, trying to settle his headache from moving so quickly at once. Jason looks so close to tears it breaks Whizzer’s heart.

“Hey,” he says gently, “come to escape the monster your mom and dad have created in the front room?”

Jason stares at him and bursts into tears. This is apparently startling to both of them, because Jason immediately swipes at his eyes, sniffling violently and saying shakily, “I'll be okay,” while Whizzer freezes like some kind of dumbass. After about a half-minute, Whizzer jerks back to the harsh realization that _Jason is crying._

“Hey, Jason, c’mere,” he coaxes, reaching out a hand, and he doesn't even need to ask further. Jason buries himself in Whizzer, his face pressed deep into the crook of Whizzer’s neck, shoulders shaking, and —

Whizzer has a sudden flashback to himself in the same position roughly twenty-five years prior. He blinks it away and rubs Jason’s back soothingly.

Kids have always been a soft spot for Whizzer. Not least because his parents were...worse than Trina and Marvin, to put it lightly. It's just that kids have such a natural innocence, a predisposition towards being earnest, that makes Whizzer ache to protect them. Just because he's jaded and battered doesn't mean they need be.

It could be hours that they stay exactly like that, even though it's only a couple of minutes. Jason’s shoulders shake less, but his grip around Whizzer’s neck doesn't loosen for a good minute. Whizzer tugs his fingers through the kid’s hair and he's thankful that Jason has curly, unruly hair, so unlike Marvin’s, which is soft and easy to play with. He takes a breath in and feels Jason breathe in too, and they breathe together for a minute, Whizzer pushing away all of the memories resurfacing right now and focusing on Jason. It's grounding, in a way, because Jason is here, right now, wrapped around him crying, so Whizzer focuses on that.

Finally Jason sniffles and pulls away, shoving his hands unceremoniously into his pockets. His eyes are bleary and red and his face is stained with tears, and Whizzer thinks, _he can't go out there like that._

“Kiddo,” he says instead, “wanna tell me what's wrong? I know Mendel’s the psychiatrist, but I'm a pretty good listener.”

Jason, eyes previously trained on the floor, look up, rubs at his eyes, and then mumbles, “I hate when they fight.”

Whizzer reaches out again and carefully grabs Jason’s wrist, pulling him closer until he's sitting next to Whizzer on the edge of the bed. “I know,” he says; and his voice cracks, which won't do at all, so he clears his throat. “I know.”

Jason sighs. “Stupid bar mitzvah.”

Whizzer wraps an arm around Jason’s shoulders. “Almost over. Then you can be a man and watch R-rated movies and have a bank account and stuff. And wear ties.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ties seem super uncomfortable anyway. Don't you choke?”

Whizzer chuckles. They fall silent, and then simultaneously realize that the rest of the apartment is silent.

The yelling has stopped. For now.

Jason looks up at Whizzer. “Thanks, Whizzer. I better go.”

He starts to leave, and Whizzer says (in a carefully controlled voice), “Jason, just a minute.”

Jason turns around and Whizzer swipes across the boy’s cheeks with the pads of his thumbs until the tear tracks are gone. “All good,” he concludes reluctantly. “See you next weekend, kiddo.”

Jason gives him a halfhearted smile before slipping out the bedroom door, and Whizzer falls back onto their bed and closes his eyes and pretends to not remember.

* * *

 

Jason cries every Sunday night as Marvin and Trina tear each other up in the front hall, and Whizzer wonders if Jason has been doing this for longer than he knows, if maybe, before Whizzer moved back in, Jason would retreat to Marvin’s room and cry in solitude. It breaks Whizzer to see Jason in such a state, to know how it feels to feel forgotten and shoved aside and cracked from the inside out. So he hugs his almost-stepson and doesn't talk except to make empty promises that, he knows, Jason is too damn clever to believe. Like _it'll pass_ . Like _everything will be alright._

“Whizzer?” Jason mumbles into his shoulder one Sunday, and Whizzer pulls away, hands on Jason’s shoulders.

“Yeah, kid?”

Jason stares, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly like he can't quite force the words out. At last, he manages, “I'm scared.”

Whizzer’s heart breaks, and he draws Jason back in for a tight embrace, and really, he's not sure if it's for Jason’s benefit or his own. The boy sniffles into his shirt and Whizzer holds him tight.

Jason is so small. Sometimes Whizzer forgets. They never talk about it; just Whizzer keeps a bit of a closer eye on Jason, calls Trina to ask how he's doing (he doesn't stop even when he can tell Trina is offended by the notion that she's parenting him badly — even though she kind of is — as if a gay man with no children would know better than her), and watches Marvin.

It's like he doesn't even know what he's doing. Or _that_ he’s doing it. Like he thinks all of the yelling will just surpass his son. Like he doesn't even notice that his kid mysteriously vanishes with his boyfriend every time he raises his voice with Trina. Like he doesn’t...notice his kid.

Whizzer loves Marvin with all his heart — impossible as he is, insufferable as he may be. But Whizzer adores Jason: no, sees himself in Jason when he cries, and sometimes, with Jason’s head tucked into his chest, Whizzer cries too, for just a second.

Flash forward six weeks, and it’s Friday afternoon, Marvin has just gotten home from work, and if there’s one thing Whizzer knows how to do, it’s Marvin. Congrats-on-making-it-through-another-week-of-hell-work sex is exhaustingly delightful, and Whizzer curls up against Marvin’s chest, listening to his boyfriend’s heartbeat, in a rare moment where he forgets every fight they’ve ever had. Marvin strokes his hair absently and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

There's never anything to say in moments like these, and there never needs to be. It's a reprieve from the day; whatever stress has built up is dissolved. So Whizzer just breathes, leeches off Marvin’s body heat, and tries not to think.

Marvin shifts, and Whizzer makes a noise of protest and looks up at his boyfriend with doe eyes. Marvin gives him a dry smile and pats his face. “Come on, sit up. I want to talk to you.”

“But we’re cuddling,” Whizzer complains. Although, admittedly, Marvin has gotten much better at communicating — they both have, and Whizzer doesn't want to stifle him. He sits up, facing Marvin.

“What's wrong?”

Marvin blinks. “I was going to ask you the same question.”

“Me?” Whizzer echoes. “Why would I — why would there be something wrong with me?”

Marvin tilts his head, like he's studying Whizzer. “I don't know, babe, you seem quiet. Not a characteristic I attribute to you normally.”

Whizzer wrinkles his nose and makes talking motions with his hands in mocking. “Nyah nyah big fancy smart guy words.”

“Whizzer,” Marvin says.

“I don't even do anything!” Whizzer points out. “What would be wrong?”

Marvin shrugs. “Maybe you're stressed about the bar mitzvah like the rest of us. I don't know.”

Whizzer raises an eyebrow. “‘The rest of us’? Do you think —” He pauses. “Never mind.”

“See? Something is the matter!” Marvin exclaims. “What is it?”

“Nothing — nothing's the matter,” Whizzer says sharply. “Drop it.”

“Whizzer, please,” Marvin says, his voice softening. He entwines their fingers together and tugs gently on Whizzer’s arm.

Whizzer looks at him. He sighs in defeat. “Do you think Jason is stressing over the bar mitzvah?”

Marvin frowns. “Jason? Where the hell did that come from?”

“Do you?” Whizzer presses, meeting Marvin’s eyes, challenging him. Marvin raises his eyebrows, adopting a defensive face, and Whizzer regrets bringing it up, almost.

“ _Yes_ ,” Marvin says forcefully. “Of course! Bar mitzvahs are insanely stressful. My bar mitzvah was a year of tenacious studying. Jason is stressed as —”

“Jason isn't stressed!” Whizzer snaps, and something in his chest, maybe buried really deep where he’d hoped he'd never need to see it, breaks. “You and Trina are the only people stressed about the fucking bar mitzvah, Marvin! You and Trina, yelling your lungs out every weekend! I'm _exhausted_ just _listening_ to you!”

“Whizzer, a bar mitzvah isn't the kind of thing you can just flash a smile at and expect it to get done!” Marvin retorts, yanking his hand from Whizzer’s to gesture angrily.

Whizzer glares at him. “Do you keep track of your goddamn son, Marvin? Notice how he magically vanishes every time you start shouting? Ever think you might fucking damage him if all you ever do is yell? Like, maybe having parents who are always at each other’s throat _isn’t_ good for a twelve-year-old to see all the time?”

Marvin sputters, and Whizzer keeps going. “Jason isn't stressed. Jason can remember things better than both of us combined. Jason is going to know all of the Hebrew in no time. But all of your _yelling_ , for fuck’s sake, Marvin! He's with me every Sunday night as soon as Trina gets here because you're _scaring_ him! Your yelling —” Before he can swallow it down, his throat chokes up and there are tears brimming in his eyes. “Just — he's a _kid_ , Marvin, you can't — how can you treat him like that?”

Marvin’s offensive posture vanishes at once. “Whizzer, what? Are — don't cry, Whizzer.”

“Did you hear what I even said?” Whizzer growls, and Marvin grabs his hand.

“Yes, I heard you, I'm more focused on my crying boyfriend, forgive me,” Marvin answers, a hint of sarcasm poisoning the sentiment. Whizzer snatches his hand away and uses the back of it to wipe his eyes.

“Don't fucking worry about _me_ ! I'm not your son. I'm an adult, Marvin. I know you like to treat me like a five-year-old, but I'm actually capable of taking care of myself,” Whizzer says furiously. “You need to fix your _kid_ before he ends up like — shitty and miserable and scared.” _Like me,_ he thinks, and his heart clenches.

Marvin gazes at Whizzer, and doesn't speak for a long time, just watches him, until Whizzer collects himself and huffs. “ _What._ ”

Marvin takes a deep breath. “You're right. Next time I see Jason I'll — apologize. And I'll try and stop yelling at Trina, and I'll be more careful. Please…” He puts a hand on Whizzer’s shoulder where it meets his neck, gentle and cautious and caring. “What's wrong? With _you,_ Whizzer. I love you. I want to help. I'm no psychiatrist, but I'm a boyfriend with two ears.”

Whizzer remembers his words to Jason and almost scoffs at the irony. Instead, he scoffs at Marvin. “What _isn't_ wrong with me, Marv?”

Marvin frowns. “Well, you're pretty, you're smart, you're not so bad in bed, for starters. You have a radiant personality.”

Whizzer laughs bitterly. “My parents. They used to fight. All the time, like you and Trina but worse. Constantly after each other’s heads.” He sniffles disdainfully at his own foolishness. “It sucked ass. Do you know what it's like to have two parents that hate each other so much they forget to love you?”

Whizzer doesn't talk about his family. He doesn't _think_ about his family, trained to repress those memories, to pretend nothing was awful when it was always awful, trained to forget and to not get scared anymore when people yell, because he's used to it. Marvin only knows that Whizzer is from Nebraska: he's never told his boyfriend anything more personal than that. He doesn’t want Marvin’s pity or sympathy: he doesn’t want any pity or sympathy, so he keeps this crap to himself, ignores it, forgets it but not really.

“No,” Marvin whispers. “God. Fuck. I’m sorry, Whizzer.”

Whizzer shakes it off. “Don’t even — just — I’m just — I’m fine, okay? You need to — nip it in the bud, Marv. Solve the problem before it even becomes a problem. Jason is twelve, his mind is more apt to be fucked up now than ever. Just.”

“Can’t you let me care about you for once?” Marvin begs, and, well, that stops Whizzer as he’s detaching himself from where he’s pressed against Marvin. “Please, Whizzer. You’re so reserved — You know the unabridged version of all the fucked-up stuff in my life —”

“I _caused_ the fucked-up stuff in your life,” Whizzer interjects.

“— And I don’t even know your parents’ names,” Marvin finishes. “You didn’t cause anything. I chose you. Both times.”

Whizzer looks at him. “Do you regret it?”

Marvin face turns deadly serious. “Not for a second,” he says. “Not even in my worst nightmares. God, I love you. You’re impossible, but I love you.”

Whizzer swallows. “Yeah, well. Then just stop yelling so much, alright?”

“Of course,” Marvin promises. “Kiss and make up?”

Whizzer takes a deep, calming breath, and feels his chest fill up with clean air and wash away all of the bad feelings, and then he smiles. He means to smirk, but Marvin brings out the best in his smile.

“I can do better than _that._ ”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for going on this painful angst-filled fic with me............i'm on tumblr @do-you-ever-really-crash or @vivilevone and that's all! bye!


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